


In Ourselves Their Souls Exist

by Malty



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 00Q Reverse Bang, Angst, Developing Relationship, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malty/pseuds/Malty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's enough to go on. Progress has to be made, time marches ever forward. They'll get by.</p>
<p>Until Q becomes the only thing worth trusting and Bond is the closest thing to normality Q has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Ourselves Their Souls Exist

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the 00Q Reverse Bang and my artist the lovely SomeCoolName. It wouldn't have been possible without their amazing work, which I'm so excited for you to see. I also want to thank forbiddenarchives for helping me with the editing. You should go check them out because they are wonderful. Any mistakes are my own.

****

In fairness to Q, when Bond turns up on time he’s the epitome of professional. Available, helpful; there’s limited banter and Bond leaves fully equipped and informed.

Bond rarely turns up on time.

On speedy days Q stands at his desk, a solitary figure in eye-line of the troops. He is not at his desk today.

A lone monitor sits in front of Q-branch unguarded, the way MI6 feels. The hallways are cluttered with standard office boxes, the odd office chair in Bond’s way. In what’s referred to only as ‘the move’ they’ve already lost half the staff, but Q branch remain, staunch in their knitwear. They would seem like mini Qs if most of them weren’t older than his Quartermaster. Bond surveys the bullpen. Messy in its attempt to work through the chaos, it's lost its clean angles amongst the clutter. It fits Q better this way.

He gravitates towards two techs deep in conversation, drawn in by their furtive looks. The redhead, whose name he doesn’t remember but should probably learn, is theorising that the remaining staff are here in the old branch because Q favours them. Bond suspects the truth is that anyone Q trusts is long gone to take care of the new branch. He smirks but no one notices, as settled with 00s as zookeepers with big cats. She stops talking abruptly, looking over Bond’s shoulder.

‘007.’

Q addresses him as if they’re already in conversation. His cardigan sleeves are rolled up, but the shirt underneath is still buttoned to his wrists.

‘Q.’

‘I trust Moldova went well.’

‘As well as can be expected.’

Q tilts his head. ‘That bad?’

‘Lacking in company.’

‘Helps to sharpen the senses.’ Q says, tapping as he speaks, more distracted than usual. ‘Your weapons are ready.’

‘Weapons, plural?’

‘No,’ he looks in the redheads direction; her lanyard identifies her as Anna, ‘but “your weapon is ready” leaves me open for any number of entendres and they think I don’t know about the betting pool.’

Anna sinks as low as her seat will allow and her surrounding colleagues suddenly become fascinated with their screens. Q carries on as if he sees nothing.

‘There are some last minute changes we need to compensate for; as I’m sure you know the climate’s taken somewhat of a turn over there. Drop by in a few hours and If I don’t see you, R will brief you. I anticipate you’ll need us by the time you reach the rendezvous, but if you need the company before then, you know how to avoid reaching us.’

‘You wound me Q. Absence does make the heart grow fonder after all.’

Q looks down at his tablet.

‘Well, finish without losing any equipment this time and I’ll see about pluralising your weapon for you. That is if I’m not too weak in the knees. 007.’

‘Q.’

As he leaves Q-branch, Anna hands her neighbour a fiver.

==

‘Quartermaster.’

The crush of activity parts to reveal Moneypenny, serene in a spotless red dress. Q sags at the sight of her. He really hopes she’s going to tell him to drop everything and sneak up to the roof with her so they can share a cigarette without tripping over boxes. He really needs to complain to someone about how Q-branch is being treated in all of this.

‘Moneypenny. What brings you to our bunker?’

‘Can’t I drop by to see an old friend?’

‘Watch who you’re calling old.’

Eve smiles, the genuine kind that visiting heads never see because it’s a little crooked and she’s self-conscious about it.

‘Mallory sent me. Said ears on the ground are worth more than wires.’

‘Was he smoking a pipe when he said that?’

‘Watch it, you’re talking straight to his ears.’

‘I’m sure they falter. Nice dress by the way’

‘Nice jumper.’ Q smacks her arm lightly with his tablet. ‘You’ve got some nerve picking on others when you’ve got the soul of a 50-year-old.’

‘What are you really doing here, Eve?’

Her eyes drop to the floor for a split second before fixing him with a look he’s never seen from her before. She’s a little taller than Q in her heels. His shoulders tense and he’s not sure why.

 

'Eve-'

‘Miss Moneypenny,’ Bill says behind him. Eve starts. Q knows Bill’s scheduled for the new building today and it puts him on edge where it never would have before. ‘A word.’

‘I’m sure it can wait,’ she says, but her tone sounds strained.

‘A word,’ Bill says again.

‘A word please,’ she says in her default playful manner.

‘Q,’ she says, but not the way he and Bond use their titles in place of farewells. It feels worse than that. She brushes his arm with her hand as she passes. Q cranes his neck to find the look in her eyes again but it’s vanished. Eve follows Tanner like it was her idea in the first place, leaving Q perfectly still while he tries to figure out what just happened.

Bill and Eve get on. Back when she used to keep a file of everyone’s birthdays and send out reminders to the heads of department to do collections (because she knew everything about everyone and MI6 as a work group were still sexist enough to think women were naturally more organised), Bill took over while she was on holiday and found it such a ball ache, (his words), that he insisted everyone double the standard amount for Eve’s birthday and no one protested. They haven’t told Bill that Q has since sent her a programme to automate the reminders and in return she splits her presents with him.

He can’t think of a positive reason good enough for Bill to be in the building he wasn’t scheduled for, and if Q can’t think of it, he doesn’t worry about it existing. He rolls his neck and notices Bond watching him with a bemused expression. He’s here to pick up equipment, not summoned by chaos like it feels. Those few hours passed quickly, and there's something oddly reassuring in Bonds return. Q makes a split-second decision.

‘007, a word please.’

‘What have I done now?’

‘Yes, you’re a perpetual fuck up, ha ha,’ says Q, leading him to his rarely used office and closing the door.

‘Have you seen Moneypenny today?’

‘Why, what _have_ I done now?’

‘It’s not about you. She’s behaving very strangely. I’m concerned.’

Bond seems surprised by his open admission, but Q doesn’t know why.

‘You think she’s in danger?’

‘Or we are.’

Bond’s face tightens. ‘We?’

‘MI6.’ Bond’s face relaxes like that doesn’t affect him somehow. ‘Look, I know it’s all terribly domestic to you, but Eve’s like Mallory’s avatar and what’s bad for him is bad for all of us.’

‘Maybe she’s having an off day,’ Bond says, not dismissively.

‘Eve doesn’t have off days.’

‘Tell that to my shoulder,’ Bond says. Q flexes his hands, feeling like something awful is happening that he doesn’t have the language for. His heart’s beating faster than he’s comfortable with.

‘Mallory IS MI6 at this point, more so than any building. You don’t think this is worth investigating?’

‘I think you’re basing a lot on one interaction.’

‘Being impulsive, you mean. Like you never are.’

Bond seems lost, like he’s not sure how this became an argument, but the deductive portion of Q's brain is sitting up and demanding attention and he knows Bond will be of use.

‘It’s best to have a clear idea of what your mission parameters are before you break them,’ Bond says. He’s studying him in a way that makes Q uncomfortable, or more aware of his existing discomfort. Like he thinks he’s being led astray, stupid.

Young.

‘37%,’ Q says. ‘That’s how many of your missions could have been achieved faster had you listened to me the first time I gave you instructions. I’m right about this, now catch up and help me for once.’

Bond surveys him, cold eyes giving nothing away. Q wonders how he found anything about him reassuring. He can trust Bond to be Bond, but he doesn’t know what that means for him.

‘What do you want to do?’

Q smiles. A rumble sounds in the building.

‘What was that? What’s going on?’

Bond has focused his gaze past Q to the source of the sound like a dog that’s seen a squirrel. When he speaks his voice has lowered. ‘Something worth worrying about.’

‘I bloody well told you.’

‘Very useful that Q, figuring it out 5 seconds before it happens.’

‘You slowed me down you ape.’

Bond spins him around against the wall. Q’s glasses jar, then his office window smashes.

Q’s pinned by Bond’s bulk when a bullet whizzes past them and the next thing he knows he’s pulled to the floor.

‘Do you really not have bulletproof glass in here?’

‘We’re moving,’ he says with a groan, ‘it’s not worth -’

Bond rolls out of the way before a monitor crashes into the space he was occupying a second ago, spraying Q with shards of plastic. He’s aware of his body in slow motion, making himself as small as possible to avoid the debris. His arm stings. Bond slides a gun across the floor to him. Q can’t see what’s going on in the bullpen from here but Bond is crouching behind his desk, kneeling up to fire before ducking back down. Q scrambles over to him.

‘Report.’

‘We’re being attacked.’

‘Brilliant.’

Q peers up. There are, (what he assumes to be), men dressed in black in Q-branch. They’re moving into position, shouting made unintelligible by the heavy sound of their boots and gear. He counts four of them, each holding a Heckler & Koch MP5 if his eyesight’s correct. His eyes travel from the barrel to Jenkins crouched under a desk with Patel. His people. He’s kneeling and firing at the man closest to them before he can think. He jolts but doesn’t go down. Bulletproof armour then. The man looks around for the source of the hit but there’s too much screaming and more of them pouring in by the minute.

Bond yanks him down without looking at him. ‘Looks like whatever they want is in Q-branch. There are more coming.’

‘Why do they look like a SWAT team?’

‘Because no one interferes with a SWAT team.’

‘Shit.’ Q can’t make out individual sounds over the noise but he knows some of what he’s hearing is his techs panic.

‘Bond, those people aren’t trained. They’re supposed to be protected.’

Bond fires again. When Q risks a look he sees a uniformed man down, hit square between the eyes.

There’s gunfire from further away, but it’s sporadic. This is no massacre.

‘We should go now,’ Bond says, ‘while they’re getting into position.’

‘We can’t just leave them.’

‘Of course we can't,’ Bond says, jaw clenched. ‘We’ll create a distraction.’

‘How?’

‘I was hoping you’d think of that.’

‘On it,’ Q says, then, ‘cover me.’ He darts up to grab the tablet from his desk, mercifully unscathed. In the brief second he can see the bullpen he sees at least two MI6 staff down, blood spreading. He doesn’t know their names. He’s already manipulating the environmental system when he registers that none of his people are injured. Moments later the lights shut off in the bullpen. If they’re looking for something, he’ll bloody well make it difficult. He’s locking every system to anyone but him when Bond pulls him up and into the darkness.

Bond’s grip on his wrist. Screaming. A gruff voice shouts, ‘Hold your fire!’

Bond shoots a man at the entrance to Q-branch and they explode out into the corridor. Q’s triggering alarms for the other levels as they run, Bond periodically turning to aim behind him and moving at a sharp clip. Q’s restored the lights to Q-branch but cuts them off in the surrounding corridors, closing security doors at random in an attempt to confuse the men attacking them. He pulls up the security feed and they hare past the offices that used to house the HR department just as they hear the sound of boots following them. The acoustics echo as if they’re in front of them too.

Bond ducks at the corner to reception and Q walks straight past.

‘Q,’ Bond hisses and pulls him back.

Q looks down at his tablet. ‘It’s fine, I can track their heat signs.’

‘Just stay behind me.’

‘But my tablet says-’

‘Screw your tablet," he grabs Q by the hand. ‘This way.’

Q’s opening the exit that leads to the lower level car park when Bond shoves him down over the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked. Bond ducks behind the office debris and kicks a chair straight at the assailant, shooting straight into his chest until he goes down. Q’s just finished inputting the code to release the car park security checkpoints when an armed man rounds the corner, gun raised. Bond is locked in a fistfight with his opponent. Q’s a sitting target.

 

Vexing.

 

Eve whips around from the adjoining doorway just as Bond delivers a bone splitting punch that drops his opponent like a sack of potatoes. The man aiming at him is too focussed on Q to see her coming, goes down immediately at the shot of her gun. Q can hear more behind. Bond grabs him, Q still facing backwards, and pulls him out of the exit Q opened for them.

‘Q, close the door.’

Q’s eyes are wide. ‘But Eve -’

‘Can take care of herself. You can’t, now close the bloody door.’

Eve’s making no move to escape, bracing herself against the wall and downing another target as they round the corner.

‘Eve!’ Q shouts. She turns briefly.

‘Go!’ She whirls back around as more approach.

‘Q, _now_ ,’ Bond says and Q’s fingers obey, his brain numb.

The door slams shut. The last thing Q sees is Eve in her red dress, firing.

==

‘Q,’ Bond grabs his arm. He’s staring at the door like perhaps he’s in shock.

‘Where’s your car? Q.’

Q pulls himself free. ‘I don’t drive.’

‘Of course,’ Bond says, ‘probably not old enough for a bloody provisional.’ It snaps Q back to himself.

‘Have you tried driving through London on a daily basis? It’s like Mumbai out there only with more speed cameras.’

Sure, Q knows the statistics but he’d be shocked by the smell.

‘We’ll take Tanner’s.’

‘I don’t take him for a speedster.’

‘Exactly,’ Q says walking towards a red Toyota. Bond fishes in his pockets for something sharp to jimmy the door with but Q holds up a hand.

‘No need.’

The car door opens at his touch. Bond raises an eyebrow and tries to open the driver door but it’s locked. He’s conscious of the shooting he knows is going on not 20 feet from them but can’t hear thanks to the soundproofing. ‘Any time today, Q.’

Q reaches across and fumbles the lock twice before getting it open. Bond’s reversing out of the space before his door is fully closed, pushing each gear to its limit before shrieking into the next. He pulls out into traffic, darting across lanes to get as far from MI6 as possible. The car _ding ding dings_ at him to put his seatbelt on.

‘Contact the new headquarters.’

‘I am. They’re not responding.’

Bond runs a red light.

‘We just escaped death, can you please stop courting her further?’

‘Try them again.’

‘I have. They’ll contact us when they can, but going on a hunch I’d say MI6 isn’t a safe place to be right now.’

‘Perfect.’ Bond turns them around, barely taking time to brake.

‘Where are you going?’

‘We need to get out of the country. Find allies.'

‘How?’

‘How do you think? Heathrow’s not far from here.’

‘No, we have to assume they’ll be tracking us. I can keep us safe as long as we avoid public transport.’

‘Which is why we should go now, while they’re submerged in the initial take-over. This is our best chance.’

‘It’s not worth the risk.’

Bond undertakes two cars to get into the right lane.

‘Turn around,’ Q’s voice sounds higher than usual.

'No.'

'007, turn around now and head for the M25.'

They hit a red light. Bond pulls the handbrake harder than necessary and turns to Q.

His face is ashen. His grip on the door handle is turning his nail beds white.

‘Bond,’ Q’s voice is tight. ‘I don’t do well on planes.’

‘But you do with hostile takeovers?’

‘Turn around.’

The light turns amber, Bond pulls into first and pulls away before it hits green.

‘Pull over,’ Q is paper white. Unbelievable, he’s going to vomit. Bond sees a lay-by ahead, thinks about stopping, then thinks better of it. Q can use the window if he has to.

He’s passing the lay-by when the car pulls hard to the left and screeches to a halt, throwing them against their seat belts. A Nissan Micra honks and swerves behind them. Bond swears and turns the key. Nothing.

Q still looks ill but he’s clutching his tablet instead of the door handle. He's stopped the fucking car without touching it. ‘You’re not thinking clearly, Bond. We’re of more use on home soil and we are not going to an airport in this car.’

Bond shoves the door open to keep from shoving Q, emerging from the car to stalk a few paces. His gaze catches on the nearby embankments. He could run to the cover of the trees. He’s probably got time. He could go right now and use the time before the shooting starts up again.

If not for Q. He’s not a survivalist; he's a Quartermaster. He sees the job first and himself second.

Just like M.

Bond’s job is to protect him by default, let alone that Q’s shown as much loyalty to him as M ever had.

He folds himself back into the driver’s seat. Q’s gaze is fixed ahead.

A panic attack is not going to help them. Nervous passengers are common. Full blown panic attacks are rare and noticeable.

‘May I?’ Bond says, gesturing to the wheel. Q taps and a moment later the car hums to life. Bond pulls into traffic, hogging lanes until he knows which to follow.

‘You’ve read my profile, where’s the last place in the country they’d expect me to go?’

Q frowns.

‘Q,’ he says, carefully keeping the anger from his voice, just reminding him where he is.

‘I’m thinking. You’re not my only agent.’

Bond almost smiles, but then Q speaks. ‘Skyfall.’

He says it so plainly, like it means nothing to him. Like what he just said isn't the equivalent of Bond saying to him, 'There's only one person in the world who can keep us safe and his name is Raoul Silva.'

Q breathes in an artificial manner. It’s clearly costing him to stay calm.

 

The road ahead suddenly looks very long indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I really appreciate any feedback. I aim to have everything posted by Christmas, and encouragement helps ;)


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